The Dark I Know Well
by Eurydice125
Summary: AU; Sweeney Todd returns to London to make two horrifying discoveries: his wife is dead, and his daughter is already married to Judge Turpin. The only course of action is vengeance. Sweeney/Lovett sort of , Johanna/Turpin, Johanna/Anthony
1. Persephone

_Disclaimer: Please, if I owned Sweeney Todd, Johnny would have lost that ridiculous white streak in his hair, but otherwise would have remained exactly the same. The title of the story is taken from the song in 'Spring Awakening' (I think people who know that musical will find it very appropriate for this story). _

_Author's Note: This is a plot bunny that would not leave me alone (in fact, it had numerous subplot bunnies). This story is going to be considerably dark at the beginning, so brace yourself for extreme angst once I get going. If you are freaked out by the Judge/Johanna pairing, I would leave, as there will be some disturbing moments. The 'M' rating is for brief sexual content, and later violence (courtesy of Sweeney, of course). Also, I'm sure you can tell from the summary that this will be very Alternate Universe. Like my other stories, this is a blend of the movie and stage version._

- - -

The Dark I Know Well

- - -

The mansion on Kearney's Lane had many admirers. The street had numerous town houses that made pedestrians stop and gaze with envy, wishing that had such wealth and luxury. Yet there was something about that mansion that made people hold their gazes for even longer. It was not that the house was merely extravagant; there was something vaguely sinister about it that made one's insides feel a distinct chill. Perhaps it was the terribly realistic looking gargoyles, whose faces held demonic grins, as if they were more than pleased at the horrendous acts they had witnessed. The mansion was distinctly dreary looking as well. The grey stone was imposing, but it also evoked feelings of hopelessness and depression.

Most of the immense windows revealed only heavy curtains in shades of burgundy, navy, and mahogany. In windows where there were no curtains, it hardly made a difference. Passersby could hardly see inside because of the lack of light inside the house. The house's doors were also too large; they prevented the house from being anything but a house. The doors gave off the impression that they were often closed, not opened. They seemed like doors more inclined to slam than invite. The house was certainly a house; it was not a home.

Inside one window on the east wing of the house, however, someone was visible. A young woman of about sixteen sat in front of the window, her head in her hand, with a definitely melancholy expression on her face. Even from afar, people could tell that she was a great beauty. Her face was more likely to be that of a china doll's than that of an actual person's. Her heart-shaped face was framed by perfectly curled hair that fell in white blonde waves down the girl's back. The girl's perfect lips looked as though they were unused to smiling, though she would certainly have a lovely smile. But the rest of her face paled in comparison to her eyes: they were beautiful and unsettling. They were unnaturally wide and electric blue. Dark, long lashes framed her eyes beautifully, but they only enhanced their strangeness.

Regardless of how unsettling the girl's eyes were, she was undeniably and uncommonly beautiful. Her light blue dress only accentuated her flawless, ivory skin. Despite her loveliness, however, her sadness was obvious. Longtime residents of the neighborhood knew her by name, and many knew her personally, but they all secretly regarded her as nothing more than the tragically beautiful girl in the window. Young men of the neighborhood were less inclined to acknowledge how sad she looked; they looked at her beauty and smirked. Many approached the house to speak to her father about courtship, but they were all turned away.

- - -

"You're to eat something, miss," Mrs. Collins told Johanna, impatience creeping into her voice unchecked. Johanna regarded the housekeeper coldly, but Mrs. Collins paid the teenager no mind. The housekeeper pushed a delicate china plate towards Johanna, sighing angrily. "Some toast, at least."

Johanna narrowed her eyes and took a deliberate bite of the toast, before promptly putting the toast back on her plate. The housekeeper huffed in a frustrated sort of way, taking the plates of untouched food away, muttering under her breath as she made her way towards the kitchen. Johanna could hear Mrs. Collins cruel, unforgiving words: "Spoiled little brat…deserves exactly what she gets."

As soon as the door to the kitchen swung shut, Johanna put her napkin to her mouth and spat out the piece of buttered toast. She felt certain that the slightest bit of food would cause her to empty the meager contents of her stomach. Johanna blindly placed the napkin back on the ornate dining table, putting her other hand to her forehead to try and rub her dark thoughts away. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes, and Johanna brushed them away angrily. God, she hated being weak like this. She hated being so trapped, but what could she do?

Mrs. Collins reentered, looking just as sour-faced and bitter as she always did. To Johanna, it seemed that Mrs. Collins would seem more at home in a gothic novel. She was more like a twisted, darker Mrs. Fairfax. "Miss Johanna, if you aren't going to eat, we should really get you ready."

Johanna shut her eyes for a beat, then reopened them slowly, taking deep, calming breaths all the time. "Yes, Mrs. Collins."

Mrs. Collins looked distinctly pleased at the lack of protest. "Well, then, come along, miss." Mrs. Collins gestured towards the entryway that led to the grand staircase. Johanna took one last sigh before pushing her chair back and following Mrs. Collins in a resigned manner. Johanna eyed all of the house's dark furnishings with disdain. Nothing held a good memory. There was no sign that she had grown up in this house, that she had once been a child in this house. She had no memories of sliding down the beam on the stairs. No, her childhood had been all cautious actions and hesitations, fear of angering her guardian and God. Johanna looked up at one of the numerous portraits of a crucified Christ with contempt. She didn't see anything glorious about such a violent death. If anything, Christ's eyes followed her up the stairs, regarding her with pity rather than blessing and forgiveness.

Johanna swallowed the lump of nerves and nausea in her throat and followed Mrs. Collins into her bedroom. A white dress was spread out on the bed, unadorned except for some lace trim and a few pearls sewn on the sleeves and bodice.

"_Virgin white,"_ Johanna thought miserably, her nausea increasing at the thought that she would not be a virgin for much longer. Mrs. Collins seemed to read her thoughts and smirked in a way that could not be disguised as compassionate as she called for a maid. Mrs. Collins gestured for Johanna to turn around, and she obeyed. Another action she was good at. Johanna did not wince or complain as one of the upstairs maids roughly undid the laces on Johanna's blue morning dress. She remained silent as the laces on her corset were retightened.

"_God help me,"_ Johanna thought as Mrs. Collins and the maid lifted the white dress over her head and laced her into without ceremony. The dress fit perfectly, accenting the curves of her breasts and hips, but modestly making her look the part of a demure and innocent bride, sans blushing. In fact, when Johanna reluctantly turned to regard herself in the mirror, she noticed that all of the blood seemed to have drained from her body. She had always been unnaturally pale, but now she seemed nothing more than skin and bone. She gasped in surprise when Mrs. Collins pinched her cheeks without tenderness. Miraculous, some blood rushed to the surface and made her look appropriately flushed.

"Bite your lip," Mrs. Collins ordered, and Johanna obeyed once again. Mrs. Collins nodded in a professional manner as she saw the blood rush to her fleshy lips, and muttered under her breath, "Better." Then her voice took on its normal, commanding tone: "Sit."

Johanna sat on the elegant French chair in front of her vanity, closing her eyes to her reflection as Mrs. Collins picked up the silver brush and began to run it through Johanna's curls. When the housekeeper stopped, Johanna did not open her eyes. She shuddered as she felt Mrs. Collins place a cool string of pearls around her neck. Johanna finally opened her eyes, only to look down at her hands in her lap, pointedly avoiding the sight of herself in the mirror.

"You look lovely, miss," the upstairs maid offered timidly, giving Johanna a shy, genuine smile. Johanna would have smiled back at the girl's kindness if she weren't so paralyzed with fear and regret.

"We must go, Miss Johanna," Mrs. Collins interrupted the moment's calm with her authoritative voice. "Or you'll be late."

"_And wouldn't that be the worst thing,"_ Johanna thought ironically. In reality, she merely nodded and stood, not sparing the upstairs maid a second glance.

She followed Mrs. Collins back downstairs, taking deep breaths to keep from fainting and to keep the contents of her stomach down. Mrs. Collins opened the front door, making the noise echo loudly in the cavernous entry hall. There was a sense of finality of the door opening, and then being slammed behind the two of them as they walked towards the carriage that was waiting. Johanna felt the door slamming akin to a guillotine blade making its final descent. Though she knew she would be back in only an hour or two, the thought gave her little comfort or security.

Johanna hesitated before entering the carriage. A firm hand on her back from Mrs. Collins guided her on. Johanna sat on one side of the carriage near the window, gazing out at all the people walking along the sidewalks.

- - -

Johanna felt distinctly uncomfortable in front of the church. She had been going to mass at least twice a week at St. Mary's since before she could remember, but for some reason, she felt like she was entering another prison. The statues gazed down at her, their saintly hands extended in what was supposed to be a gesture towards salvation. Johanna was only aware of how blank their eyes were, and how their faces seemed to be expressions of condemnation. It was as if they knew exactly what everyone's sins were, and that they were indeed going to hell.

"_How appropriate,"_ Johanna thought as she thought of everyone in the church being damned. As Mrs. Collins ushered her inside, Johanna's eyes fell on the church's few occupants. She took in the sight of the unbelievably flawed men in front of her: her groom, a Beadle, and a priest that she knew to be less than holy. They all eyed her possessively.

Her groom's gaze was probing and raping, making Johanna's stomach lurch again. She did not want to look beautiful for him. If she had had her way, she would have purposely appeared ugly and disheveled this morning, making him want to back out of the marriage. She was perceptive enough to know when she was being used, when she was being viewed as a mere object or possession rather than a person with a heart and soul. Johanna felt certain her eyes were blank and her skin deathly pale during the brief ceremony, but no one seemed to mind. No one seemed to care than the bride wished that she were dead; that at that very moment, she was planning on taking poison as soon as she could obtain some.

"Dearly beloved…"

The strongest urge Johanna had ever felt gripped her. She wanted to run, to flee the church and never look back. Never mind that she could never make it on the streets by herself. She would be willing to prostitute herself if it meant getting out of that bloody church.

"_Say something, anything,"_ Johanna thought to herself wildly. _"Tell them you're really a whore, that you're not a virgin, that you aren't worthy. You're a bastard child, after all."_

"…In sickness and in health…"

"_You're insane. You're terribly ill. You're certain that you have consumption."_

"…So long as you both shall live…"

"_You've a lover. You're tainted. Unclean. For God's sake, say something!"_

All too soon, Johanna became aware that the service was over. She had no been allowed to give her own answer. She felt the world fall away from her feet as her groom looked at her expectantly. Expecting what? Time and space went away. Johanna was only aware of how she had always thought of Lucifer in Paradise Lost as looking exactly like Judge Turpin.

- - -

_Okay, so no Sweeney or Lovett; don't worry, they get a whole chapter to themselves next. I know there's little to go on so far, but please leave a review letting me know if you're intrigued or not._


	2. Home Again

Disclaimer: Please, if I owned Sweeney Todd, Johnny would have lost that ridiculous white streak in his hair, but otherwise would have remained exactly the same

_I'm sure Sweeney will just be thrilled with this news:_

* * *

"Would no one have mercy on her?"

The palpable hurt in his voice was enough to make tears sting Mrs. Lovett's eyes. He stood with most of his back to her, but Mrs. Lovett could see the strain and utter exhaustion in his shoulders. She moved slightly to his side so that she could view his face. When she noticed the tears in his own deadened eyes, Mrs. Lovett's suspicions were confirmed.

"So it is you…Benjamin Barker," Mrs. Lovett breathed, hardly able to contain her awe at the sight of Mr. Barker, back from the dead it seemed.

"Where is she? Where is Lucy?" Barker responded, ignoring Mrs. Lovett's question. He whirled on her, eyes blazing, making him look demonic. "Tell me!"

Despite Barker's obvious fury, Mrs. Lovett paid him no mind. She was too occupied with his reappearance to think about all that he had lost. Her eyes took in his sunken face wildly, murmuring, "So changed…what they do to you in bloody Australia or wherever?"

"Where is she!?" Barker practically howled, more animalistic than human. He stalked towards her menacingly. "Tell me, or so help me…"

"She poisoned herself, sir," Mrs. Lovett quickly said, trying to remain calm and sympathetic while she hid the fear that he had stirred inside of her. "Arsenic, from the apothecary 'round the corner…" Mrs. Lovett's voice trailed off as she recalled the days leading up to Lucy's suicide. As Barker remained silent, Mrs. Lovett added, quietly, "I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen to me."

"And my daughter?" Barker managed to say, though it seemed like every word was a painful effort.

"He's got her," Mrs. Lovett replied, not wanting to endure Barker's wrath for divulging more awful information.

"He? Judge Turpin?" Barker's voice lost all of its misery; it now held a dangerous edge, one ominous and full of vengeful promise.

"Adopted her, like his own…then married her not two weeks ago," Mrs. Lovett continued. Searching desperately for something good to tell him, she adding in a cheerful tone, "You could say it was good luck for her…she'll not want for anything."

"No!" Barker screamed, his hands lurching forward to shove all of the contents of the nearby end table to the floor. For a few moments, he merely panted in anger, clenching his teeth, his shoulders taut. Finally, he straightened and removed his jacket in an eerily calm way. Though the action was perfectly domestic and normal, Mrs. Lovett was disturbed by his voice:

"Fifteen years…sweating in a living hell," Barker murmured darkly, tossing his jacket aside. "Fifteen years, dreaming that I might come home to wife and child." His tone was slightly mocking then, as if he could not believe how naïve and hopeful he had been.

Mrs. Lovett felt even more sympathy for the poor, destroyed man in front of her. She recalled the old days, when the Barkers had been a loving couple living in the apartment above her. And Mr. Barker…he had been so lovely, so attentive…and beautiful. But now, dear God, how changed he was. She hardly recognized him until he had been so interested in her story. His cheeks and eyes were sunken in, making him resemble a living corpse. Rather than keep these observations to herself, she spoke, "Well, I can't say the years have been particularly kind to you, Mr. Barker-"

"No," Barker cut her off harshly, whirling on her once again; this time, Mrs. Lovett stood her ground, not the slightest bit intimidated. "It's Todd, now. Sweeney Todd. And he will have his revenge."

"What, you?" To Todd's surprise, Mrs. Lovett began to laugh, not cruelly, but as if she were genuinely amused. "You, a nobody of a runaway of an ex-convict? How on earth do you think you're going to get men like the Judge or the Beadle?"

"I'll get them," Todd hissed, narrowing his eyes at the baker in front of him. "If I have to work and sweat in the sewers or the hospitals…I'll get them."

Mrs. Lovett believed him. There was something hypnotic and promising about his tone, as if one could not help but believe every word he said as true. Not to mention the fact that Mrs. Lovett had seen firsthand what tragedy and injustice could do to even the gentlest person. There was no saying what a human being was capable of if they reached their breaking point; or even worse, if they had nothing more to lose.

* * *

"It don't have to be the sewers or the hospitals, love," Mrs. Lovett told Todd as she opened up the loose floorboard in Todd's former apartment. Todd raised an eyebrow as Mrs. Lovett dug through the secret hole, but his dark eyes widened in surprise when he saw her remove a sleek black case. Mrs. Lovett smiled knowingly at the look on Todd's face. "You see? You can be a barber again…when they came for the little girl, I hid 'em." As she handed Todd the case, which he took and handled reverently, she added, "Times being as bad as they are, I could have got ten, maybe fifteen, quid for them any day now."

Todd only nodded vaguely. Glancing awkwardly about the room for a moment, Mrs. Lovett leaned over Todd's shoulder carefully as he opened the case. Mrs. Lovett's mouth widened into a sly grin once again as she observed the beautiful blades. "Them handles are silver, ain't they?"

"Silver…yes," Todd breathed, his voice alive at last. His tone could not be described as particularly happy, but for the first time since he had been back, his voice did not carry the dead weight of years in prison and misery.

The proud smile remained on Mrs. Lovett's face as she regarded Todd's immediate change in expression. She knew Mr. Barker – er, Todd – would have to warm to her the minute he saw that she'd kept his razors.

"You don't 'ave to worry about a thing, Mr. T," Mrs. Lovett breathed in his air as she leaned over his shoulder. "You can stay right 'ere…just like things used to be."

Todd nodded in an annoyed sort of way, but then turned his head a fraction of an inch and spoke, "Leave me."

Mrs. Lovett blinked in surprise and disappointment at the abrupt change in Mr. Todd's mood. Sighing, Mrs. Lovett nodded and slowly walked towards the door, but not before turning back for a final glance at her Mr. T. She felt a vague chill when she noticed the distinct, murderous look in his eyes, as if he were possessed by the devil himself.

* * *

Todd was only slightly aware of the door closing behind him. Resolved, he pocketed one razor, then stood to examine the rest of his room. It had clearly fallen into disrepair, to say the least. The wallpaper, which had once gleamed a bright cream color with violets, was now dingy and peeling off the walls. Cobwebs decorated the ceilings and large window in the ceiling. An old cot was laid off to one side, as well as Johanna's old crib. Todd blinked away the memories of the old days as he regarded his daughter's old sleeping place. Taking a shaky sigh, he started rummaging through the doors in the old dresser.

Todd's hands shook as he found a framed picture of Johanna and Lucy. He put a hand to his mouth, afraid he might cry out or vomit. His body lurched forward, and the picture flew out of his hands as he grasped the edge of the dresser for support. Inhaling and exhaling slowly a few times, Todd picked up the picture once more, dusted off the film in front of the faces, and stood it in the center of the dresser. Once he had set the picture to his satisfaction, Todd could not help but look up into the mirror in front of him.

"God," Todd swore unconsciously as he took in the sight of himself.

There had been no mirrors in Botany Bay. He could see parts of himself in the puddles and water occasionally, but this was the first time in years that he had really studied himself. His face, which had once been handsome and artfully sculpted, was wasted and sunken. He looked far too thin. His cheekbones stuck out like wings, and his eyes were so sunken into his skull that he looked more like a corpse. His eyes were the same vivid blue, but the shadows that ran across them made them look darker. As Todd looked into his own eyes, he thought of his daughter. When Johanna was born, he had admired his daughter's blue eyes, thinking that they were his. Lucy had teasingly told him that all baby's have blue eyes, but he had shrugged it off.

"_I hope she has my eyes,"_ Todd thought before his thoughts took a darker, more vicious turn. _"I hope he thinks about me every time he even thinks about touching her. I hope his skin crawls when he looks into her eyes."_

Without thinking, Todd's hand went for his razor and he viciously slashed across the air. He would positively bathe in the Judge's blood…for everything that he had done to Lucy, to Johanna…both innocents…for everything that the man had done, he deserved the most brutal, agonizing death possible. At the thought of his poor daughter, a young girl who was having her innocence stripped from her at that very moment, Todd's hand with the razor lurched forward into the mirror, shattering it. Todd welcomed the sting as blood bloomed from the wounds on his fingers. Pain was the only thing he felt anymore; it was the only sign he had that he was still alive.

He knew that he had to plan carefully. Vengeance could be easy; he could just walk up to the Judge and slit his throat in the middle of the street, consequences be damned. But Todd had waited too long, and too much was at stake. There was also Johanna to think about. It was a dream just beyond his grasp that he could perhaps get his daughter back. If there was to be any chance that he could have Johanna again, he needed to kill the Judge subtly and cleverly. He could not have the murder traced back to him, no matter how much he wished that he could be obvious and scream down to hell that he had killed the Judge.

Todd's eyes fell onto a shard of mirror still hanging in the frame. In the reflection, Todd could see his old barber chair. Todd's mouth twisted into a smile, a great effort. Turning his back on the mirror, Todd regarded the chair silently, a sinister smile growing on his deadened face.

* * *

_Mostly recap from the movie, but necessary to the plot nonetheless; next up is some Johanna and Anthony…that should be fun insert evil laugh Now he's gendering at someone's _wife


	3. Romeo

Disclaimer: Please, if I owned Sweeney Todd, Johnny would have lost that ridiculous white streak in his hair, but otherwise would have remained exactly the same

_Angsty!Johanna ahead; here's where the Judge/Johanna stuff comes in. It's brief and a bit vague, but if it bothers you, skip ahead a bit:_

* * *

Chapter Three

* * *

"_O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!_

_It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night_

_Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear;_

_Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!_

_So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows_

_As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows._

_The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand_

_And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand._

_Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!_

_For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."_

_- Romeo, Romeo and Juliet: Act I, Scene V_

* * *

Johanna was both grateful and resentful that she was allowed to keep her own room. On the one hand, it was much easier to find solitude and sanctuary. On the other, nothing in her room felt like it was hers anymore. As she sat on the window seat, Johanna regarded all of the items from her childhood sadly. There was an array of precious china dolls on one shelf. The dimmed winter light filtering in through the window hit their pale faces in a melancholy way. One doll, a princess with perfect brown curls, had shadows that fell across her face so that it looked like she was crying. Johanna's gaze fell on other familiar things: needlepoint disregarded from the day before, a book of Shakespeare's sonnets left open on her bedside table, her china pitcher and basin, a silver brush, a reticule inherited from her mother.

She would have thought that the room would have been extremely comforting after the past two weeks. She was surrounded by familiar things, yet none of them evoked a particularly warm or comforting feeling. Instead, she felt awkward and somehow…unclean in the presence of her innocent childhood things. Her dolls seemed to be looking at her harshly; she had never before noticed that they were not smiling. Everything in the room seemed to judge her. She had never been particularly zealous about Christianity, but more than ever, she believed that God held a trenchant gaze on her. She was only sixteen. She should not be feeling this way. And yet…

Everything ached. Her center hurt in a way that made her dread the nights. She fulfilled her duty as wife unenthusiastically, but the Judge had not appeared to mind. He did not notice her grimace when his lips trailed along her bare shoulder and collarbone. He did not even blink when she had to swallow hard to keep herself from being sick as he freed her breasts from their corset. She had turned her head away when he entered her roughly, without care. Tears had stung her eyes. She did not shield them from his view for his benefit; she just needed to know that, for once in her life, she could be strong. She could suffer without complaint. What else was there for her if not the Judge? He was all she knew. And she would take her punishment…for whatever it was that she had done to deserve it…and she would take it without protest.

As he had taken her, some whimpers and cries had escaped her throat. She imagined that he thought of them as noises of pleasure rather than pain or disgust. The action seemed to go on forever. As he moved inside of her, she bitterly thought of the term "love making."

"_There's no love in this,"_ Johanna had thought. _"It's just a euphemism to make women feel better. So that they don't feel like whores."_

"Or maybe it's just me," Johanna said aloud, coming back to the present briefly, before going back to that night. _"Maybe I really am a whore…lying down for my father. God…will I go to hell?"_

Did it matter that he wasn't really her father? He was close enough. He had raised her, cared for her…he had loved her as a daughter once, hadn't he? Hadn't she been good enough as a daughter? Why did he need more? The tears flowed freely now, unchecked. All those times that they had played when she was a child, that had been completely innocent. Those times she had kissed his cheek; for her, it had been a sign of traditional daughterly affection. What had it been to him? Her stomach lurched as she thought of how long he had been lusting after her. God…all those times he had seen her in her chemise. She hadn't thought twice about it. She had thought he was merely viewing her platonically, or at least in a way that a father would view a daughter.

She wasn't sure she could take another night of "love making." All she could think about as he kept thrusting and thrusting was of how he had read to her when she was little girl. She tried not to think about it. She had tried to keep herself in the moment, to think of him as a man, and even try to enjoy it, but her thoughts kept drifting to her childhood, making her want to retch. So instead, she had retreated to a part inside of herself. She detached herself from the moment, staring up blankly at the ceiling while he moved over her. She was vaguely aware of his breath in her ear and the occasional whisper, but she did not respond. When it was over, he shuddered and stilled above her for a moment, before collapsing at her side. She hated lying next to him like that, covered and filled with him.

Johanna took deep, calming breaths as she thought of the idea that she might carry his child. There was no sign so far, but what did that mean? She might not know for weeks and weeks. Mrs. Collins kept looking at her closely as she dressed her in the morning, clearly looking for signs that Johanna's ruin was complete. Johanna took a perverse pleasure in the look of disappointment on the old woman's face when Johanna failed to give away any sign of misery. Johanna merely remained cool and polite as she had always been, with a hint of steely defiance lurking under the surface.

At her window seat, Johanna could not bring herself to do anything like read or sew, nor could she keep looking around the room of her childhood. It was clear the room no longer fit her. It belonged to some faraway girl, a girl who had never been bedded by her would-be father, a girl who had never thought about tying up those sheets to her ceiling and simply ending it all. The girl who deserved this room was someone who had never laid down and taken her punishment quietly, a girl who had never needed to retreat into some secret part inside of herself. Tears again pricking her eyes, Johanna's gaze fell onto the street below. She took her mind off of her own misery by making up stories for people on the street.

_She is having an affair with her brother-in-law._

_He just stole some bread to help his sick mother._

_She can't get her daughter to accept a suitor._

_He…_

_Oh._

Johanna's gaze was met by a pair of startling, wide blue eyes. Then, something happened that she was unfamiliar with. The young man under her window smiled at her in an unassuming way, in a way that was meant to be merely friendly and polite, not expecting anything in return.

_Oh._

* * *

Anthony was lost.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, drawing a surprised look from a well-to-do woman passing him on the street. He rarely swore, but being lost in the most impressive (and largest) city in the world brought out his impatience. He knew he was in Mayfair; the large mansion that Anthony could not even dream of one day living in gave that fact away. Not to mention the people he passed on the street, who regarded him with disdain. Never mind that he had six brothers and sisters and a mother to take care of at home. Never mind that he had left home when he was only fifteen to care for them all.

"_Never mind that I do the dirty work that your sons wouldn't dream of doing,"_ Anthony thought in a rare moment of bitterness.

Sighing, angry at himself for letting his impatience and bitterness get the best of him, Anthony rubbed his temple and sat down on the nearest bench to gather his thoughts. He could always go to Fleet Street for a while. Though, Anthony could only assume that Mr. Todd was set up there already. Sighing once again and blinking slowly, Anthony's eyes caught sight of a flash of blonde hair in a nearby window. Anthony drew in a sharp breath as he viewed the goddess only a few yards away from him. He stood, drawn in by her breathtaking beauty. Gorgeous blonde curls fell about her shoulders, framing her perfect face. The only thing there to mar her spectacular beauty was the look of complete sadness on her face. Upon closer inspection, Anthony realized that there were tears in her otherwise lovely blue eyes.

Anthony was startled to realize that she was returning his gaze. When her sadness hit him full force with her gaze, he offered an encouraging, lovely smile. She looked surprised for a moment, then she smiled briefly before wiping her tears away. When she saw that he was still looking, Anthony could swear that he saw the faintest blush on her cheeks.

"Alms, sir?"

Anthony nearly jumped out of his skin at the raspy voice and gnarled hand that interrupted the moment. An old crone was to his right, holding out a claw-like hand for money. Rummaging in his pocket for spare coins, Anthony found a few and offered it to the old woman.

"Thank yer, sir, thank yer," the beggar woman began to hobble off towards some other passerby, but Anthony stopped her after a moment's hesitation. The old woman looked completely stunned after being stopped.

"One moment, mother," Anthony said kindly, and the old woman relaxed a bit, though her eyes were still unnaturally wide and strangely blank. "Could you tell me whose house this is?"

For a moment, the old woman said nothing, and Anthony was certain that she really was mad and that he was merely wasting his time. Then, "Oh…that's the great Judge T-t-t-turpin's house, that is." She struggled over the name, and Anthony felt a rush of pity for her.

"And the young lady who resides there?" he asked gently, hoping to keep her attention for just a bit longer as he noticed her gaze fall on wealthy pedestrians.

"Oh, her?" the old woman looked up at the young woman with a bit of hesitation, as if she were staring into the sun and didn't want to look for very long. "That's Johanna…his pretty little ward. Or wife…I can't remember which."

"His wife?" Anthony felt hope deflate within him quickly.

"Wife…wife…beloved," the woman hobbled off, muttering under breath. Anthony let her go, watching as another man pushed her off roughly when she asked for coins.

Anthony looked back up at the window, only to find that Johanna had vanished from her spot. Disappointed, Anthony immediately scolded himself.

"_She's not yours,"_ Anthony thought angrily. _"She's another man's. Who knows…she may be completely in love with him."_ But for once, his head and heart were unified: _"But then why was she crying?"_

Before Anthony could even think another sentence, the door to the mansion his lady lived in swung open. An older man, distinguished, but otherwise unremarkable looking, regarded Anthony coldly for the briefest moment before his expression became paternal.

"Come in, lad, come in," the man gestured for Anthony to enter.

Anthony hesitated, shrugging his bag over his shoulder slowly, before he slowly approached the house. The man continued to smile as Anthony walked passed him into the house. Anthony regarded the impressive entrance hall in awe, jumping a bit when the front door slammed shut behind him. There was a finality in the sound that Anthony found more than a little disturbing. Nonetheless, Anthony followed the man, whom he guessed to be Judge Turpin…which would make him Johanna's husband. Swallowing back his disgust at the thought of the older man touching Johanna, he followed him into a sort of library or study.

"You looked rather lost," the Judge said, his tone amiable.

"Ah, well…I was looking for Hyde Park," Anthony stumbled a bit over his words in light of the odd situation. "It's embarrassing for a sailor to lose his way, but…there you are," he finished a bit lamely.

As he spoke, the Judge handed him a glass of brandy. Anthony was not unaccustomed to drinking, but something inside of him told him not to drink.

"A sailor, eh?" the Judge regarded Anthony in an odd way, as if appraising him…or somehow envious.

"Yes, sir…the _Bountiful_, out of Plymouth," Anthony replied, still not drinking, the glass feeling heavy and awkward in his hands.

"A sailor must know the ways of the world, yes?" the Judge continued, as if Anthony hadn't spoken. "Must be practiced in the ways of the world…Would you say you are practiced, boy?"

"Sir?' Anthony asked, though he caught the Judge's meaning and his face heated up in response. He wasn't a virgin, but he didn't make a habit of going to the brothels in New Orleans or Paris, which his shipmates frequented and teased him about.

The Judge had turned his back on Anthony to regard the books behind him. He lightly fingered the spines of the leather bound volumes, in an almost sensuous way that made an uncomfortable shiver run down Anthony's spine. His stomach twisted as the Judge elaborated, "Oh yes…such practices…the geishas of Japan, the concubines of Siam, the catamites of Greece, the harlots of India…I have them all here, drawings of them…"

As the Judge spoke, his hand moved lovingly across the various books. Anthony looked over his shoulder, only to see a large, imposing sort of man blocking the doorway. The Judge suddenly turned back towards Anthony, and held him with a piercing gaze, "Everything you've ever dreamed of doing with a woman."

Anthony felt his tongue get stuck in his mouth, leaving him unable to speak. Smiling, the Judge asked in a mild way, "Would you like to see?"

Anthony cleared his throat and found his voice, "I think there's been some sort of mistake." He heard a distinct chuckle from the man in the doorway. The Judge briefly looked at the man before fixing his gaze on Anthony, his voice and eyes decidedly cold.

"I think not," the Judge said, leaving no room for argument. "You gandered at my wife, Johanna…you _gandered_ at her." Anthony opened his mouth to protest, but the Judge continued, "Yes, sir, you gandered."

"I meant no harm," Anthony argued, his voice a bit sharper than he had intended. He heard a shift behind him, and he instantly regretted his impertinent tone.

"Your meaning is immaterial," the Judge said, and Anthony could easily see him at the Old Bailey, sentencing men to death without a second thought. Suddenly, the Judge was inches away from him, his face and voice imposing and ominous: "Mark me: if I see your face on this street again, you'll rue the day you were born."

Anthony swallowed hard, about to protest again, but then he felt rough hands at his back, grasping his jacket and jerking him out of his seat. He was unceremoniously dragged out a back way and flung into an alleyway. Anthony groaned as his ribs hit the pavement hard before he attempted to get up, only to gasp with pain when he felt a club hit his back, then his kidneys. His legs buckled underneath him, and he hit the pavement hard once again. The man turned Anthony's slight body over with his foot, smirking at the sight of the blood smeared on the young man's face.

"You heard Judge Turpin, little man," the man practically hissed, making himself look like a rat. Smirking once more, the man dug his billyclub into Anthony's forehead, making his head throb in pain. "Next time it'll be your pretty brains all over the pavement." With one last push on Anthony's forehead, the man turned back towards the house, entering, and slamming the door behind him, leaving Anthony to gasp and cough and pain in the alley.

* * *

_Aw, poor Anthony. (Note: It took an embarrassingly long time to decide about whether or not he should be a virgin. Hee.)_


	4. High in Her Tower

Disclaimer: Please, if I owned Sweeney Todd, Johnny would have lost that ridiculous white streak in his hair, but otherwise would have remained exactly the same

_Everyone who's favorited me or this story or requested alerts can feel free to review ;) Again, more Johanna/Turpin in this chapter, so skip ahead if it bothers you. Also: since it adds very little to my plotline, I am skipping over the contest with Pirelli._

* * *

Chapter Four

* * *

"_High in her tower,  
She sits by the hour,  
Maintaining her hair.  
Blithe and becoming and frequently humming  
A lighthearted air…_

_And she's just out of reach.  
Agony  
That can cut like a knife!"_

_- Rapunzel's Prince: Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim_

* * *

Patience was one of Anthony's quiet talents. Years of being the oldest of seven children, not to mention years of keeping vigil at night watch on a ship had instilled the virtue in him. Yet never had he kept a vigil quite like this. In spite of the bruises and cuts that served as a physical reminder of what could very well happen to him again at any moment, Anthony stayed under Johanna's window. He was quick to dodge into an alley or around a corner when he saw the Beadle or the Judge exit. Mostly, it was quiet. He merely waited for glimpses of Johanna. She appeared at her window occasionally, and she would briefly meet his gaze, but then she would look in alarm over her shoulder and rush from the window. The black and emerald snake of jealousy curled within his stomach as he thought of the goings on within the house.

* * *

"I love you."

It took all of Johanna's strength not to roll her eyes. It was a ritual after their coupling for the Judge to express this sentiment, and Johanna did not bother to fake reciprocation. When the Judge had finished, all she wanted to do was wash herself and get rid of all of traces of the Judge on her. He could never just roll over and sleep. He needed to linger on her body.

"I love you."

Johanna frowned as he repeated himself. Curious, she turned her head on the pillow to regard her husband. He was looking at her expectantly, and she almost felt sorry for him. _Almost_. She could not bring herself to speak, not even to lie. Maybe if she did not respond, they could just sleep. Instead, she felt his hands on her again. Groaning internally, Johanna forced herself to retreat to the secret corners of her mind as his hands found her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. This wasn't really her. She was floating above it all, watching some other girl lie down under a man she felt nothing for. Worse, a man she had once loved like a father. But it wasn't her. It was some other girl, some other girl who was having her neck bit and kissed, her breasts fondled. But it was not Johanna; she was somewhere far away, far away.

When he was finally finished, he rolled onto his side next to her, regarding her silently once more. He slid one finger under her chin, making her look at him. The blankness in her eyes faded as she came back to herself. The Judge studied her carefully, absentmindedly trailing his finger up and down her cheek. Finally, when he spoke, he startled her with his question:

"Do you not love me, even a little?"

Johanna was distinctly disturbed by his question. She had not realized the Judge had noticed her neutrality, if not vehement hatred at times, towards him. But what surprised Johanna the most was her response:

"Why should it matter? You don't love me."

The Judge looked stunned at her statement, the bitterness in her voice. He was really looking at her now, not appreciated the gleam of sweat on her form or the rise and fall of her chest. He was simply seeing her. "Of course I love you." He scoffed a bit. "I married you, didn't I?"

Ah, this was the man she knew. It was much easier to speak with him and argue with him when he did not pretend to be vulnerable or hurt by her responses (or lack there of). She fixed him with an icy gaze and replied coolly, "Yes, you married me."

"Mind your tone, madam," the Judge snapped back. Johanna wanted to laugh at his anger; how like him to become furious with her while he was still recovering from their coupling. The Judge got up from the bed then, and Johanna was startled by the violence in his movements. She watched as he dressed hurriedly, pulling the sheet up around her chest as she sat up in bed. When he was done, he regarded her coldly. "You were a bastard child. I could have abandoned you to an orphanage or a workhouse. But I didn't. I took you in as my own."

Could he not see the depravity in that statement?

"And I married you, even though it was beneath me," he went on, making Johanna want to scream: _"Beneath you? Now there's a phrase for it!"_

In spite of the obvious impatience and fury on Johanna's young face, he continued, "I love you. Even if you do not believe it, I do."

Sighing in a resigned sort of way, the Judge made his way towards the door, but before he could exit, Johanna spoke again, venom in every word:

"There's a difference between love and lust…_father_."

The door slammed so hard it shook the bed.

* * *

Back in her room, Johanna cried. She had tried not to; when the Judge had left the house, she had tried to go back to her room with some dignity and dress quietly. But before she had even entered her room, she was sobbing. She could not even bring herself to dress completely. In her dressing gown, she sat by her window, crying helplessly. She was not even sure where her misery started and ended. She wanted to cry enough tears for an ocean, enough to drown herself, or at least enough to leave her body dry and numb from all other feelings. When she looked out the window through her tears, she saw an angel. Granted, her angel was a little bruised and weary, but an angel nonetheless.

He smiled up at her softly, that same soft smile that expected nothing and gave everything. Managing a smile and brushing back her tears, Johanna reached for a small, yet ornate jewelry box. She removed a small key to and from the house that the Judge had given her after they had married; regardless, she did not have the energy or spirit to use it. Opening her window wide, she leaned out and threw down the key.

On the street, Anthony quickly bent down to retrieve the key to his love. Smiling, he pocketed it and turned to head towards Fleet Street.

"_Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair…"_

* * *

Sweeney Todd was restless. In spite of his success in the contest with Pirelli, he was not satisfied. Since his victory, several customers had come, giving him a little money at last, but neither the Judge nor the Beadle was among the patrons. Todd paced the room back and forth, ignoring the gaze of Mrs. Lovett, who had come in to check in on the barber.

"You'll wear a hole in the floor there, Mr. T," Mrs. Lovett observed, setting down a tray of food; or rather, an inedible pie and ale. Todd merely grunted in response, his eyes flashing dangerously in her general direction. Mrs. Lovett paid him no mind. In the few days that Mr. Todd had been back, she had quickly adjusted to his new attitude. Even if he was a bit sharp with her, she still saw him as her old Mr. B or…T. She waited a few moments to see if he would say anything, but only silence met her expectations. Disappointed, she left the tray and reached for the doorknob.

"Why doesn't the Beadle come?" Todd practically growled, just as Mrs. Lovett had turned to leave. Mrs. Lovett whirled back around quickly, eager to be needed. She waited for Todd to continue, sitting herself down in the old chair that she had brought up the day before. As she sat, Todd went on, "Before the week is out. That's what he said."

"And who says the week is out yet?" Mrs. Lovett replied encouragingly, but with an undertone of impatience. Fond as she was of Mr. T, his obsession was starting to grate on her. Nonetheless, she added, "It's only Tuesday, Mr. T."

Todd sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. In a fit of frustration, he tossed his razor across the room, making Mrs. Lovett jump at the noise, but it also earned her concern and compassion.

"Easy there, love," Mrs. Lovett whispered, standing and approaching Todd. "Just wait a bit longer…" Todd reluctantly nodded. Smiling, she continued, "And anyway…it'll be all the better if you savor the anticipation."

At that, Todd actually chuckled a bit, albeit darkly. Then he looked at her in a way that made him look like Benjamin Barker again. Some kindness seeping into his voice, Todd replied, "Mrs. Lovett, calculating as usual." It was an odd sort of half compliment, but Mrs. Lovett smiled knowingly in response anyway.

"You know me, Mr. T, always looking on the bright side," Mrs. Lovett said, picking up the tray, whose contents she knew Mr. Todd would not eat. Her statement made Todd smirk a bit as he continued his vigil near the window.

Suddenly, there was a pounding of feet coming up the outdoor stairs. Mrs. Lovett and Todd exchanged alarmed looks for a moment, before Todd immediately rushed to the side of the doorway, pressing himself flat up against the wall and readying himself to slit the throat of whoever entered. Mrs. Lovett looked mildly amused after such a show. The door flung open, but before Todd could strike, he saw that it was Anthony. Under his bruises, Anthony flushed as he came face to face with Mrs. Lovett.

"Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me…Mrs…um…"

"Mrs. Lovett, son," the baker said a bit dryly, amused by the sight the boy made. Without the bruises and cuts, he would have looked rather handsome.

"A pleasure, ma'am," Anthony said quickly, more than a bit out of breath. He saw a flash of movement beyond the door, and he turned to see Todd waiting against the wall. "Mr. Todd! Thank God I've found you!"

"What is it, Anthony?" Todd inconspicuously pocketed the razor that had been clutched in his hand. As Anthony caught his breath, Todd noticed the bruises on the sailor's face in a rare moment of concern. "What in God's name happened to you?"

Anthony shook off the question as Todd took his arm and led him over to the chair. "It doesn't matter…you see, there's a girl who needs my help. Such a sad girl, and lonely, but beautiful too…"

"Slow down, son," Todd said mildly as Anthony sat down.

"I'm sorry," Anthony took a deep breath and looked chagrined. "You see, this girl has a husband so tyrannical that he keeps her locked away. But then…this morning…she dropped this." Anthony held up a delicate silver key with an ivory ribbon wound around it. "Surely this is a sign that Johanna wants me to help her." Taking Todd's startled look for confusion, Anthony elaborated: "That's her name, Johanna. And Turpin is her husband. He's a Judge of some sort, but as I said, a monstrous tyrant."

"She's married, then?" Todd asked softly. _"Please, dear God, let it be a mistake. Don't let her actually be married to him."_

"Yes, but believe me, there's no affection there," Anthony replied, darkness seeping into his tone.

Todd nodded, before whispering to himself, "Yes, I can believe that."

"Mr. Todd?" Todd glanced back to see a confused frown on Anthony's face.

"Nothing, son," Todd said, clearing his throat and turning his focus back to Anthony. "So what do you plan to do?"

Anthony sighed and looked down. "When the Judge has gone to court, I'm going to sneak into the house and see her. But…" Anthony shook his head and looked away. "She'd be ruined if she were to run off with me, wouldn't she?" He glanced from Todd to Mrs. Lovett, both of whom knew that he spoke the truth. "I mean, we could leave London, but he could come after us, couldn't he? But I can't leave her there…" Anthony's voice trailed off as he spoke more to himself than anyone in the room.

"Why do you care so much about her?" Todd asked quietly, trying to gauge Anthony's reaction.

"I don't know," Anthony replied honestly. "I just…seeing her there at her window, so sad like that." Anthony chuckled to himself. "It sounds ridiculous, I know. It's completely inexplicable."

Todd nodded, but turned away so that Anthony would not see the tears in Todd's eyes. As Anthony spoke of his love, Todd couldn't help but think, _"I was like that once, wasn't I? Foolishly optimistic…I fell in love with Lucy the moment I saw her. That was inexplicable too. And she could have had anyone she wanted…"_ Todd eyed the key in Anthony's hand. _"But she chose me anyway."_

"If she's willing to run away with you," Todd began, clearing his throat and wiping his eyes unnoticeably. "You understand that you put both of yourselves at great risk? She could easily be dragged back to him; he would be well within his rights to do so, no matter the circumstances…and no matter how miserable she is."

"I know," Anthony replied sulkily, his head dropping.

"And you know that he could very well send you away?" Todd went on, lost in his train of thought. "He doesn't even need a reason…but stealing his wife would be a terrible offense against him. You would probably be hanged."

"I know."

"If you are caught, she will be labeled a whore, even if he decides to keep her when it is all over," Todd said, blind to Anthony's growing frustration and impatience. "You would risk all of this-"

"And more, Mr. Todd," Anthony interrupted. "And anyway, we will not be caught. Whatever else may happen, I will _never _let her fall back to him."

Todd regarded the boy silently. He was so resolved, so sure of what would happen. How naïve he was. _"Gods,"_ Todd thought. _"Was I ever so naïve?" _Then Todd again looked at the resolved, lovesick expression on Anthony's face, causing sympathy to rise up in Todd like a long forgotten friend. Finally, Todd spoke:

"Then you can hide here until you both have a plan."

Anthony's eyes widened at the offer. "Mr. Todd, that is very generous, but I couldn't possibly…" He turned towards Mrs. Lovett. "I couldn't possibly impose on both of you like that."

"No imposition at all, love," Mrs. Lovett said fondly, taking a liking to the boy's blind romanticism. "It's the romantic in me. Happy to help a couple in need."

Anthony smiled at the comment, before turning back to Todd. "It's really all right with you, Mr. Todd?"

Todd nodded silently in confirmation.

Smiling widely, Anthony jumped up from his seat and grasped Todd's hand. "Thank, sir. Thank you, ma'am." As he made for the door, he turned back once to say, "I shall be grateful for this until the grave."

As Anthony closed the door behind himself enthusiastically, Mrs. Lovett sighed and rolled her eyes a bit. "What a fool…a romantic, but a fool nonetheless."

"May he stay that way," Todd said quietly, facing the window once more, looking out onto the dark London streets.

"In all honesty, Mr. T, do you think he's the right sort of man to help rescue Johanna?" Mrs. Lovett asked, clearly concerned over the boy's innocence.

"Yes," Todd said with a note of finality. Mrs. Lovett made towards the door, but not before Todd added, "She deserves to have one man in her life who will not disappoint her."

* * *

_Again, please review, especially after a new chapter. It's sad to update and see no comments. :( _


	5. Something Wicked

Disclaimer: Please, if I owned Sweeney Todd, Johnny would have lost that ridiculous white streak in his hair, but otherwise would have remained exactly the same

_Aw, you guys are awesome for leaving reviews! I'm glad you are all enjoying it, and thank you so much for the compliments._

* * *

Chapter Five

* * *

"_By the prickling of my thumbs,_

_Something wicked this way comes."_

_- Witch: Macbeth, Act IV, Scene I_

* * *

As she opened the door to outside, Mrs. Lovett noticed a flash of green and gold in the archway that led to Fleet Street. Groaning a bit, Mrs. Lovett turned her head over her shoulder to warn Todd, "Mr. T, that dreadful Italian has come back again. Got his boy with him too."

Todd stiffened slightly, but otherwise looked calm as he went over to the corner where he had thrown his razor. Picking it up and polishing it on his shirt, he told Mrs. Lovett, "Keep the boy downstairs."

Nodding in understanding, Mrs. Lovett finally exited, shutting the door behind her. She held her head high as she descended the staircase, meeting Pirelli at the bottom. Pirelli had his back towards her at first; she could see that he was hissing orders at the young boy from the market. When Pirelli saw the baker at the foot of the stairs, his face melted into a mask of charm.

"Signor," Pirelli began, taking off his hat and bowing with a flourish to her. "Is Mister Todd at home?"

Unimpressed by the Italian's attempt at charm, Mrs. Lovett shrugged and wiped her hands on her apron, "Upstairs plying his trade, ain't he?" Then Mrs. Lovett got her first good look at the abused boy from before. Smiling kindly at the terrified little creature, Mrs. Lovett asked him in a motherly fashion, "Toby, isn't it?" She shot Pirelli a cold glance. "You wouldn't mind if I gave him a nice, juicy meat pie, would you?" Her tone distinctly implied that she didn't care what Pirelli's answer was.

Nonetheless Pirelli gave her a brusque answer: "Si, si, si, whatever you like."

Smiling at Toby once more, Mrs. Lovett put a hand around the boy's shoulder and guided him towards her shop. She almost wanted to cry when she felt the boy flinch at the contact. Guiding him over to the most comfortable seat in the bakery, she gingerly asked, "Your teeth's strong I hope."

* * *

Todd barely glanced up at the sound of the door opening and the familiar ring of the bell, alerting him to Pirelli's presence. Todd continued brushing the barber chair clean casually for a moment before he finally straightened and gave Pirelli his attention.

"Mister Todd," Pirelli greeted him in his thick accent, making Todd almost want to laugh at the caricature in front of him.

"Signor Pirelli," Todd replied, putting on a subtle accent to mock the other man.

Pirelli smirked a bit at Todd's voice. As Pirelli removed his elaborate fur and set it aside with his hat, he spoke once more, only in a much more familiar accent to Todd, "Call me Davey. Davey Connors is the name when it's not professional like…and I'd like me five quid back, if you don't mind."

"Why?" was the only question to escape Todd's mouth. He tried to mask his surprise at Pirelli's – Connor's natural cockney accent, but he was certain that he looked appropriately staggered.

"_Because_ you entered into our little wager under false pretenses, my friend," Connors fixed Todd with an amused look as he removed his leather gloves. In fact, Connors looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself as he continued, "And so you might remember to be more forthright in the future, you'll be handing over half your profits to me, share and share alike…"

Todd's hand tightened over the razor in his hand and opened his mouth to angrily reply, but Connors's gaze turned decidedly cold and stopped him as Connors uttered three words: "Mister Benjamin Barker."

There was absolute silence as Todd felt three bricks hit his chest with each word. To say that his insides ran cold would be an understatement. Todd could no longer feel the floor underneath his feet. It was dissolving away like any prospect of revenge. The Judge…the Beadle…Johanna…the plan was slipping away like sand through his fingers. Connors would reveal him or ruin him. Todd blindly went to the window for some semblance of fresh air, though the window was not open. Oblivious to Todd's pain or out of sheer lack of interest, Connors strolled casually around the parlor, examining its contents.

"Yes, yes…this'll do quite nicely," Connors was saying. Blood was rushing in Todd's ears; everything sounded muffled and far away. But what Connors said next caught Todd's attention: "You don't remember me, do you?" Todd frowned and looked up, trying to place Connors's face. When nothing came to mind, Connors smiled knowingly and scoffed a bit, "Ah, but why should you? I was just some down and out pug you'd hired for a few weeks to sweep up hair and the like."

There was only the slightest trace of bitterness in Connors's voice; he mostly spoke neutrally, as if about the weather. He had paused for a moment to pick up one of Todd's spare razors from the dresser. Connor's did not open it; he merely held it up with both hands, one on each end, to admire the beautiful engravings on the handle.

"But I remember these," Connors went on, smiling as if recalling a fond memory. His smile went a bit softer, a bit more genuinely fond as he continued, "And how could I ever forget you, Mr. Barker."

For a moment, Todd looked at Connors and remembered the young boy he had once hired. Connors – he had simply been Davey then – had only been eleven when Todd had hired him. He'd been a good assistant, quick to sweep up hairs, held lather and razors for Todd while he shaved a customer. In return, Todd had paid him promptly and promised to keep as an apprentice one day to learn the trade. God, it seemed an eternity ago. As he listened to Connors reminisce, Todd gazed out into the thick London fog outside, trying to see the horizon. Todd vaguely heard Connors come to his side, only to sit down on the trunk near the window. Todd could remember when Davey had once fit easily in that spot under the sloping ceiling; now, Connors was much too tall for the spot.

"I used to sit right here," Connors said, as if reading Todd's thoughts. "I'd watch you and dream of the day I could be a barber myself…" Then Connors looked up, and all traces of fondness evaporated into a mask of coldness and sarcasm. "You might say you were an…_inspiration _to me."

"_How far I've fallen,"_ Todd thought miserably. He looked over his shoulder at Connors, who was busy studying the room and absentmindedly tapping his fingers against the trunk. Todd could remember that habit back from when Connors was a boy. _"God, he once looked up to me. I was once a man worth admiring."_

Those old days…Todd could remember the way it used to be. He'd come into work about an hour before Davey. The boy was so eager to help, he often came early anyway. Lucy would come up with some breakfast for the boy, knowing how hard it was to make ends meet. Lucy would inquire about Davey's mother, who had been rather ill of late, but Davey was quick to make his situation seem better than it was; he had liked Mrs. Barker and didn't like the idea of worrying her. At the end of every week, Davey quickly accepted his few quid, making Mr. Barker smile at the boy's obvious enthusiasm.

"_Yes…I had a life once,"_ Todd thought. _"I was hopeful once. I took pleasure in the simple things once."_

Todd absentmindedly went over to the small stove where he had been boiling water for tea. Had it been fifteen years ago, he would have offered some to Davey. Actually, Davey probably would have gotten it for him. Todd and Connors were both silent as Todd stood by the stove, watching the kettle heat up. Finally, Connors cleared his throat and stood, walking over to Todd. Todd could hear the heavy footsteps behind him that had once been so light and playful, almost a skip.

"So, do we have a deal?" Connors asked, his voice mocking and seriously threatening all at once. For a moment, Todd wanted nothing more than to ask what had happened to Connors to make him this way. Before he could, Connors finished his threat, "Or should I run down the street for my pal, Beadle Bamford?"

At the name of the man who had helped destroy his life, Todd's eyes narrowed. Whatever he had been thinking before, Davey Connors was certainly dead. As Sweeney Todd had slit Benjamin Barker's throat with a razor of revenge and hate, Adolfo Pirelli had strangled Davey Connors in a vat of greed and bitterness. Todd felt his control slipping…he could not go back to jail. He could not be a prisoner, a weakling again. He would not be manipulated or used by any man ever again.

"So what do you say to that, Mister _Sweeney Todd_?" Connors reverted back to his Pirelli voice, mocking and condescending before breaking into laughter.

In retrospect, it was the laughter that did it. The mockery in the tone that reminded Todd of the Judge when he had sent him away on a false charge. Had Connors stayed silent, Todd probably would not have brutal as he had been. Regardless, the laughter made Todd's control completely snap: in one swift movement, Todd grabbed the burning hot kettle and swung it to break Connors's jaw. A second later, before Connors could even react, Todd brought the kettle down again, knocking the man out cold, sending him to the floor with a loud bang. It wasn't enough; the fury and frustration of fifteen years in a living hell erupted inside of Todd. He brought the kettle down again and again, beating out his impossible anger the head of a man who had once been an innocent. Todd bashed out any hope of bringing Benjamin Barker back to the surface. It was only after several last heaves downward that Todd stepped back and regarded the sight in front of him.

Todd let out a choked cry at the bloody body on the floor. Collapsing in exhaustion into his chair, Todd put a hand to his forehead and tried to think. It would be difficult to explain to Connors's boy – his boy!

Todd leapt to his feet with the grace of panther and reached for Connors's body. Adrenaline pumping in Todd's veins, he heaved Connors's body over his shoulder, glancing at the other trunk in the room. With a grunt, he hauled the trunk top open and dumped Connors's body unceremoniously inside. Pausing only a moment to catch his breath, Todd quickly shut the trunk and straightened when he saw the blood and hot water on the floor from where he had tossed the kettle. Todd reached for a spare rag and quickly wiped up the small pools of blood and water. Todd could hear the worried, high pitched voice of the boy downstairs and then the small patter of feet coming up the stairs. Todd tossed the wet, bloody rag into a corner of the room and raced back towards the kettle, picking it up and placing it back on the stove. When the boy entered, Todd was the epitome of tranquility, coolly picking up the kettle and pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Signor –" the boy comically stopped abruptly when he saw that Pirelli was no where to be found.

"Signor Pirelli has been called away," Todd said amiably, approaching the boy slowly. Off of the boy's delicate frown, Todd continued, "You better run after him." He put a guiding hand on the boy's shoulder and urged him gently towards the door.

"No, I better wait for him here," the boy moved backwards so that he was sitting back on the trunk where Pirelli lay, dearly departed. Todd almost choked on his tea when he saw a hand sticking out of the trunk. _"No, it can't be…"_ He saw a finger twitch. Paying no mind to what the boy was saying, Todd urged him towards the door once more and attempted to mask his panic with a smile.

"So, Mrs. Lovett gave you a pie, did she?" Todd asked as he moved the boy away from the trunk. At the mention of Mrs. Lovett, the boy broke into a grin.

"Yes, sir. She's a real lady," the boy replied enthusiastically, stopping before the door, much to Todd's frustration.

"That she is," Todd agreed quickly, glancing back at Connors's stray hand. "But if I know a growing boy, there's always room for more pie…so why don't you wait for your master downstairs? There'll be another pie in it for you, I'm sure."

Todd could sense the longing and hunger in the boy's eyes, but he remained firm. "No, I should stay here." He looked at Todd sadly. "Signor Pirelli's a great one for the lashings, you see. If I go…"

"Well…" Todd thought quickly. "Why don't you go and tell Mrs. Lovett that I said to give you a nice big tot of gin?"

The boy's face immediately became animated and luminous. "Thank you, kindly, sir." He immediately turned towards the door. As he left, Todd could hear him say, "You're a real Christian, sir."

Todd felt his stomach and heart clench at the statement. Pushing his pain aside, Todd reluctantly turned back towards the trunk. As Connors's fingers began to twitch more violent, Todd picked up the razor that Connors had previously been fondling and approached the trunk. He lifted the trunk top, watching as Connors moaned lightly and clutched his mangled head. Todd gently grabbed Connors by the back of his head and lifted his neck towards him. Blinking only once, Todd drew his razor across Connors throat, not looking at the expression of shock and horror on Connors's dying face. As blood spurted out, it coated Todd's razor, fingers, and shirt sleeve liberally. When Connors's body had finished twitching, Todd placed him back in the trunk, closed the lid, and locked it.

Todd picked up the rag from the corner and began to wipe his razor clean. His mind was blank as he went through the tedious motions of cleaning the parlor. He rinsed out the rags, wiped up the blood around the trunk, then polished his razor once more. As he rubbed the rag on the silver blade, he heard the door open behind him and Mrs. Lovett's voice:

"That lad is drinking me out of house and home," he could practically hear her putting her hands on her hips in her trademark impatient sort of way. He heard her sigh, then, "How long 'till Pirelli gets back?"

There was no point in lying to her. Whatever Mrs. Lovett might be, he knew that he could trust her as a confidante. He turned around and let her see the razor, the rag, the bloodstain on his sleeve. Todd glanced up briefly before he finishes polishing the razor, saying mildly, "He won't be back."

It was the first time that he had ever seen Mrs. Lovett genuinely shocked. She gasped and looked Todd up and down, as if to make sure he was still himself. "Oh, Mr. T…you didn't."

Todd smirked a bit, since it was obvious that he did. He glanced at the trunk and then looked at her emphatically. Mrs. Lovett cautiously approached the trunk, hauled the top open, then immediately shut it with a gasp of horror when she saw the gory contents. She whirled on Todd, hissing, "You're barking mad. Killing a man what done you no harm."

"He tried to blackmail me," Todd argued, frowning at her disapproval. "Half my earnings for the rest of my life."

"Oh," Mrs. Lovett's suddenly calm expression was the funniest thing Todd had seen since his return. At his answer, she shrugged and opened the trunk once more, examining the body closely as she added, "That's a different matter, then. For a second there, I thought you'd lost your marbles."

Todd's smirk grew wider at Mrs. Lovett's seriousness, and her pragmatism as she rifled through Pirelli's jacket for his purse. In true fashion, she removed the garish item and tucked it into her blouse, murmuring, "Waste not, want not, I always say."

"Send the boy up," Todd told her as he finished polishing the razor, holding it up to the light.

"Oh, Mr. T, surely one's enough for today," Mrs. Lovett gave him a beguiling smile. "Mustn't indulge yourself, you know." Todd quirked an eyebrow at that, but otherwise remained neutral as he shrugged.

"Fine, keep him, then," Todd replied. "But make sure he stays downstairs and out of my way."

Mrs. Lovett nodded wisely, "Of course, Mr. T. Anyway, I'll keep him busy working downstairs in the bake house. I've been meaning to get a helper for years now, just never quite had the opportunity…Mr. T? What's wrong?"

Todd was gazing out the small window that looked out onto Fleet Street. His eyes had widened and the little color that remained in his face had completely drained.

"Get out," he whispered, not tearing his eyes off of whatever was out the window.

Mrs. Lovett hesitated at the queer tone in his voice. When she didn't leave, Todd whirled on her with fire burning in his eyes, "Get out!"

"For God's sake, what is it Mr. T?" Mrs. Lovett asked before he ushered her roughly out the door. As she looked down the stairs, she got her answer, but Todd hissed a reply in her ear nonetheless.

"The Judge."

* * *

_I decided to put the scene with Pirelli in because I had originally worked this as a oneshot to show Sweeney's thoughts as all this is going on. The look on Johnny's face during this scene always gets me._

_In case you're wondering about what's going on with Johanna/Turpin/Anthony, I'm going to skip around on the timeline and go back to them in the next chapter._


	6. Sealing Fate With a Kiss

_So sorry for the long wait. I have not given up on this story; I have been extremely busy with finishing high school and adjusting to college. But I missed this story so much (and TCBS, which I should finish soon), I finally got to writing._

- - -

Chapter Six

- - -

Judge Turpin considered himself a patient man. When Lucy Barker had continually rejected his advances, he had waited weeks and weeks. Even when her husband – he couldn't think of the name – had been sent away, Lucy denied him. It took weeks after the man's sentencing to get her to his house for the masquerade ball. The night of the ball, he'd had to plan carefully; he waited three hours for Lucy to drink glass after glass of wine before the time was right. For all that patience and effort, he had finally gotten what he wanted. His patience had paid off.

With Johanna, he had waited three agonizing years. She had always been beautiful, but it was only when she turned thirteen that he had noticed the womanly curves and alluring eyes. Thirteen was much too young. So he'd waited the three years. Three years of succumbing to his desires and having to touch himself while imagining Johanna. Three years of turning to the scourge to try and purge himself of the sinful fantasies. The sting of the whip was torturous, but it rid his mind of Johanna. If he stopped, he would nearly drive himself made with desire. Part of it was the idea of the total possession. With Lucy, she'd had another man in her body before. With Johanna, the idea of claiming her as his own was intoxicating and impossibly alluring. Johanna had a purity that Lucy had lacked; perhaps that was why he was so compelled to marry her. He easily could have taken her any time he'd wished, but he hadn't. Was it any wonder that he'd gotten so furious with Johanna for suggesting that he didn't care for her?

Not that the consummation of their relationship hadn't been important. It had been everything he'd fantasized about for those long three years. It was infinitely better than it had been with Lucy, where there had been so much manipulation and struggle. Johanna had simply undressed and lay on the bed without complaint. In retrospect, he wished that she'd been a bit more enthusiastic, but her young body and the thrill of taking her virginity had more than made up for her lack of responsiveness. He had noticed the wince she made when he'd first taken her, but after that, all he knew was her flawless skin and soft curves. Now that the initial shock was over, he felt the thrill starting to leave him. She was still young, but now he could not help but notice how she simply lay there during the act, cold and frigid.

These thoughts plagued Turpin as he exited the courthouse. He noticed Beadle Bamford fall into step beside him and nodded in greeting.

"If I may, sir, you seem a bit distracted," Beadle Bamford offered, looking eager to be confided in.

Turpin frowned and looked at the Beadle curiously. "Was it very obvious in court?"

"Certainly not, your honor," the Beadle replied soothingly, but added, "Just now…you seem a bit…concerned." There was a pause, before the Beadle guessed, "Nothing wrong with your wife, I trust?"

Turpin sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Nothing…wrong, exactly. She's just so…cold."

"Ah," Beadle Bamford chuckled knowingly in response. "But sir, what wife is not? My own wife is not the warmest of creatures, but…there you are." He smirked a bit. "If I wanted warmth, I would go Whitechapel."

Turpin smirked appreciatively for the briefest moment at the mention of the infamous prostitution district. He had frequented it during his youth, but during the past decade or so, his tastes had improved. Women like Lucy and Johanna, heavenly creatures on Earth, pure and delicate, suited his tastes more. After a moment, the Judge went on, "Still…you know I have loved Johanna for years."

"Of course, sir."

"And yet…I find her…" the Judge trailed off, not wanting to admit that his own wife was unresponsive and cold to his every advance.

"Unresponsive?" the Beadle supplied nonetheless, as if reading the Judge's mind. Looking slightly abashed at his abruptness, the Beadle meekly added, "Sir?"

"In all honesty, yes," Judge Turpin replied, quickening his pace.

"Ah," the Beadle murmured unhelpfully. Then, with a quick, sly smile, he ventured, "Excuse me, my lord…but…there's stubble upon your cheek, you see."

- - -

Anthony paced up and down Kearney's Lane in front of the Judge's mansion, waiting for a sign from Johanna that it was safe to enter. Finally, she appeared at the window, but she motioned around to the side of the house. Following her hand, Anthony went back to the alleyway that he had been unceremoniously thrown into the previous week. Looking around, he cautiously put the key in the lock. The door swung open, and Anthony was greeted by a young woman who looked to be about Johanna's age. She wore an unremarkable maid's uniform, and her dark hair was piled onto her head in a simple twist. When she saw Anthony, she smiled, but also put a finger to her lips.

"You'll have to be quiet," the young maid whispered to Anthony as she gestured for him to enter. "The Judge is out, but we have a rather…overzealous housekeeper. She also happens to be fiercely loyal to the Judge."

Anthony found himself in a small hallway that looked to be around the servant's wing. Through one door, he could see a large kitchen, but curiously empty.

"Thanks for the warning," Anthony replied, looking at the girl curiously. "I'm sorry, but why are you-"

"Helping you?" the maid supplied. She smiled softly at him, looking a bit shy. "I really like Miss Johanna, sir. She's always been very kind to me." Then she looked serious, and more than a little angry. "She does not deserve to be married to that monster." There was a pause as she peered around the corner at the end of the hallway. "You do not want to know what she has endured over the years."

Anthony felt a newfound rush of sympathy for the young lady who had so effortlessly stolen his heart. The maid motioned for him to follow her, and Anthony could not help but gape at the scope of the home that he was in. He followed the maid up a large, grand staircase, then down a dark corridor until she stopped in front of a door. She blushed a little as she gave Anthony a farewell curtsy.

"She's in there," she said before she left Anthony alone. "I'm standing watch for you around the corner."

"Thank you," was all Anthony could come up with to say at the girl's cavalier attitude about the whole situation. For a few brief moments, Anthony stood outside the door, taking slow, even breaths. Then, with a final glance at the maid, he turned the doorknob and entered the room, only to be greeted by a heartbreaking sight.

"Johanna," her name escaped his lips like a prayer unchecked. From her spot at her window seat, her head immediately turned. As the dim light from outside hit her face, he could see all of the tear stains decorating her flawless face. In an instant, he was kneeling down by her side, boldly grasping her hand. As he realized his boldness and made a move to remove his hand, Johanna held onto it like a life line.

"Sir…," Johanna began, her voice shaking a bit.

"Anthony," he said quickly, his other hand covering hers. "My name is Anthony."

"Anthony," she whispered back, her voice a bit rough because of the tears. "I…" Her voice trailed off as he lifted a hand to her face to wipe away the newfound tears. She leaned into his hand, unused to such a gentle caress. Then she frowned delicately. "You found out my name."

"Of course," Anthony replied softly before kissing her hand. He smiled a little uncertainly. "I needed to find out your name the moment I saw you."

Johanna couldn't help but smile widely at that, her tears suddenly becoming nothing more than a memory. She bit her bottom lip for a moment, then she said, "It's strange, you know…when I saw you, I felt like you were someone who was going to change my life."

"I know the feeling," Anthony responded, taking a seat next to her but not releasing her hand. For a few moments, they were quiet, and they merely regarded where their hands were linked in between them. Then, Anthony spoke, but soberly. "I understand that you are married."

Johanna cringed and took in a sharp breath as she abruptly stood, clutching a hand to her middle. "Don't speak to me of my husband."

"I'm sorry, but I need to know…" Anthony went on, standing and coming up behind her. He noticed her tears had returned and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. She leaned into his touch once more, her tense shoulder muscles relaxing a bit at the tender gesture. "Johanna." She gave a little sigh when he said her name, urging Anthony to hold her closer. His arms fit perfectly as they came around her waist so that he could rest his chin on the top of her head. "I suppose you've answered my question as to whether or not you love him."

Johanna gave an ironic laugh at that. "Hardly." Then she sobered and turned around in Anthony's arms so that she could see his eyes. "I used to…as a daughter. But he wanted more…I can't give that to him." She shook her head and smiled sardonically. "As if I could ever see him as a lover."

Anthony's grip tightened at the thought. The idea of Johanna, beautiful, young Johanna, lying underneath that monster, vulnerable to his every whim…it sickened him to his very core. Recklessness gripped Anthony desperately.

"You could come away with me," Anthony declared passionately, making Johanna smile softly. "Tonight…now…I know a place where we can stay. A friend of mine…"

"He'll find me," Johanna interrupted gently, placing a cool finger on Anthony's lips. Johanna's resolve seemed to melt for a moment as Anthony's lips automatically pressed a kiss to her fingertips, but then it was back. "He'd hunt me down…he knows too many people within the city." There was a hopeless pause. "But if we had a plan…if you wait a few days, perhaps…"

"I can't leave you with him for that long, Johanna," Anthony said, an edge coming into his voice. "It's been too long already." He softened when he saw the helpless look on her face. "You should not have to stay with him any more."

"I shouldn't have to, but I must," Johanna argued gently. "I'd be putting us both in danger if we were to leave now. There are too many risks."

Anthony sighed, but he could not argue that. Johanna merely reaffirmed what Mr. Todd had said earlier. A plan…they needed a way for Johanna to get away. Anthony mused several ideas aloud, but Johanna hardly heard him. She knew that there was no possibility that the Judge would willingly let Johanna walk away from their marriage.

The only way he would let her go was if one of them was dead.

- - -

_Intrigued by that vague ending? :P_


End file.
